What door will lead me home?
by Whispering Darkness
Summary: In the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Mysteries, there is a locked door. One that was said to contain a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, human intelligence and the forces of nature. And Harry, well, Harry had nothing left to lose.
1. The locked door

_**Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.** **  
** **\- Albus Dumbledore's final piece of advice to Harry Potter**_

* * *

 **The locked door**

* * *

He slipped into the Department of Mysteries, a place that officially only Unspeakables were allowed access to, but Harry could sneak past anyone far too easily these days.

Without hesitation he walked through the door and closed it behind him, leaving the dark circular room bathed only in the eerie light of blue-flamed torches.

He remembered the first time he had stepped into this room, so very long ago. He'd been desperate to save Sirius, his mind aching with the possibility that he might be too late, that Voldemort would straight out kill him. This room, with black walls and black doors, all of them identical and unmarked had made his heart sink.

He'd been a little lost and a little afraid, but his friends had been by his side.

Now Harry was alone, but he was no longer easily frightened, and this room with its doors was no longer unfamiliar. He'd visited it a number of times before, and even if he still couldn't tell in advance where each door would lead, he feared none of them. Not death, nor space, thought or time.

He opened one of the black doors and was faced with the coldest of all of the rooms he might have found. A room that echoed inside of him with loss, and he sighed as he stepped inside.

Harry had faced Death many times, and did not see it as his enemy.

The stone archway in the centre of the room still called to him, but though he heard voices from the other side he had never heard his godfather amongst them – though in truth, he never stuck around long for fear that he _would_. It would be too late now in any case. So very many years had passed since that day and life had continued.

After the war, he had gone back to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione, though things were never, ever the same again after that fateful day where he had walked right up to Voldemort - to his death.

Sometimes he wondered – what if he had taken that leap back then, in those post-war years? He'd already felt that shadow upon his heart that marked him as different, even if he hadn't known what it meant – even if he'd thought that the Master of Death was a story that he'd left behind when he got rid of the wand and the stone.

But even as a young wizard, he should have known better – should have known that magic comes with a price and that it's _never_ that easy to undo something so momentous.

For a long moment, Harry watched the veil sway in a non-existent breeze. Then he left the room of Death behind him.

Before closing the door, he carelessly waved his fingers in the shape of an X, marking the door like Hermione had done, once-upon-a-time, and closed it behind him.

The black doors swirled around him as he stood silently waiting until they settled once more. He chose another door at random, with a patience that only those who have nothing but time could fully grasp.

And it was Time that awaited him now, in a bright, glittering room. Harry didn't even step inside, because, unlike Death, Time _did_ sometimes feel like his enemy and he had no reason to face it today.

There was something of bitterness within him, whenever the young-looking wizard entered that room – a feeling that only strengthened if he then continued onwards into the Hall of Prophecies.

And yet Harry had walked through the room on several occasions anyway, to learn about time what he could. It made sense, after all, to know his enemy. And after all he had learned of magic, only the deepest mysteries, such as the ones that could be found in this department still remained as such to him in his life.

And Harry had lived a long time.

He didn't look it, didn't always _feel_ it – not physically at least, and perhaps that was the problem. Because time skipped him, left him outwardly unchanged. And while his friends slowly slipped away from him in time, Harry remained more and more alone with each second that passed him by.

You would think that with the passing of centuries, those wounds would have healed by now, as the passing of time tends to dull all such pains. And in a way that was true, especially for everything that had happened to him since. But those memories of his earlier years were always stronger somehow - more vivid.

Harry could remember a great many things of his days at Hogwarts with clarity - up until that final battle with Voldemort.

After his death… life had _dulled_. It hadn't been very apparent to him at first – he had not realised until more than a century had passed that the death of his godfather was something he could still remember rather clearly, while the loss of Hugo, Ron and Hermione's youngest child, was almost a distant memory that barely stirred his heart anymore.

In a way, that thought made him glad that in the end he hadn't married Ginny as a part of him had wanted to. The other part knew that he'd been too raw and too distant to feel like he could do right by her.

It's not that he hadn't cared for her, he had loved her. Just as he had carried a lot of love for all of the friends he had known when he'd been truly alive.

Harry had cared so very much that every time he lost one of them it felt like an essential part of him had ripped away. And that feeling had never ceased. Not with Ron's passing or Hermione's. Not when Teddy finally succumbed to old age.

Once, Dumbledore had told him that the fact that Harry could feel pain like that was his greatest strength. But every time someone dear to him left him it began to feel more and more like a weakness as he was left behind, always and ever alone.

Until everyone he had known during his Hogwarts years were gone. And Harry was left with nothing but memories, because it seemed like his heart could barely summon up love for anyone new.

And agonizingly slowly, time distanced the memories that were all he had left to cling to – not only of his love for them, but also of his loss and perhaps that was a blessing.

But then, perhaps it was a curse.

It was something that Harry feared more than anything else – that hollowness that had been creeping up to and inside of him for over a century. There was nothing left for him in the Wizarding World, and he had few fond memories in the Muggle World, which had changed, developed and became more difficult to understand with each year that passed him by.

He was afraid that in his loneliness he would grow more and more distant until he lost the very last thing that made life worth living.

But then, that was why he was here, wasn't it? For a chance - a fool's hope perhaps, but he had nothing left to lose.

So the wizard marked the door of time and let the doors swirl around him once more, waiting patiently for the one he truly needed.

The locked door; one that was said to contain a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, human intelligence and the forces of nature.

And, with all the magic he had learned in the past two and a half centuries, Harry intended to open it.

* * *

When Harry awoke, it was to nothing but darkness.

His first breath tasted of dust and ashes but he kept breathing, trying not to despair. He had made his choice, after all, to find something, _anything_ more. And he would not be who he was if he didn't see this through.

It took no more than a whispered 'lumos' to show him just what he had gotten himself into this time. The wizard was clearly no longer in the bowels of the Ministry, instead he found himself in a small stone room with only one door leading out.

An easy choice then.

Carefully he walked forward, into the unknown. The thought was refreshing, because it had been such a long time since Harry had been completely uncertain of what he would find ahead of him.

In this case, it was a large, spacious room filled with pillars and several immense stone statues – all of it long since fallen into disrepair. Some light filtered in from far above, bathing the skeletons in what looked like some sort of great hall in ominous shadows.

Crossing the room, Harry dismissed the glowing light and stepped outside, almost eager to find out where he was. Looking around, the wizard found that the ruins he had emerged from were a large, round plateau within a desolate valley of sand and rocks. Around him steep, sharp cliffs of red rock rose up towards the sky. The symbols and runes carved into the rock were completely unknown to him, despite centuries of studying all kinds of magic.

He reached out with his magic, a trick he had learned many years ago that could help him easily find where he was in comparison to major presences of magic. The familiar hum of Hogwarts, lively and welcoming, that he'd always instantly been able to find wherever he was, was a conspicuous absence.

What drew his notice instead was a strange, dark magical presence in the distance to his right – though Harry could tell little more about it, almost as if it was shielded somehow.

Then again, this was likely not his world – magic might very well work differently here. For now, he drew his magic back.

All in all, it was a rather forbidding welcome, the ancient wizard thought with an actual, if somewhat rueful, smile. He had not meant to travel to a different land, had not meant to come wherever this was – if that had been his intention, Harry might have tried the room of Space, or even the veil of Death. No, he'd hoped for something far more inexplicable than that.

And now he found himself facing something entirely unexpected and new.

And that was fine, despite the ruins, the skeletons and that forbidding darkness.

Because he _felt_ new.

Harry felt like his heart had been unlocked – had been opened up to see, smell and feel the world once more in full. And even if this was not a pleasant first sight, it felt real.

Whatever else this world had to offer him, be it pain, darkness or even war, it would be worth it just for this.

With that realisation, he leaned back against the ruin, slumped down in something akin to relief and, for the first time in centuries, he wept.

It was a strange reason to cry, but he couldn't seem to help himself, couldn't stop so he allowed himself this moment – there was no-one here to see him, no-one who would judge him and if there had been, Harry likely wouldn't have cared.

Which was a good thing, the wizard supposed roughly a quarter of an hour later, because on the edge of his consciousness he could feel a strange magical presence quickly moving closer.

Eyes red and tears still upon his cheeks, the wizard stood. He didn't see the point in hiding or running or anything else.

This world was new, _Harry_ was new, and he was ready to face whatever it would bring him.


	2. To begin anew

**To begin anew**

* * *

Two people slowly walked up to him, both of them buzzing with some form of magic that, fortunately, didn't feel as utterly vile to him as the dark presence he had felt earlier.

The one with a clear magical aura was dressed in dark clothes and he approached Harry as a warrior might, tall, unyielding and with a hint of wariness in the tenseness of his frame. The other person seemed far younger – there was not much cautiousness in the boy's gaze, instead he looked curious.

It was also instantly obvious when this bright-eyed young man noticed the tears on Harry's face, because he stepped forward without caution, body lined with sympathy and a need to comfort.

The wizard's heart beat loudly in his chest when he found himself the recipient of that earnest kindness - for so long he had held himself apart from everything that this was... _something_.

Of course, then the other man stepped between them and the two of them erupted in something of an argument. Thankfully their language sounded as normal as English to the misplaced wizard.

"He's dangerous, Wil, stay back," the tall man commanded. He had a good voice, in Harry's opinion, strong and deep and calm.

The blond looked at his companion incredulously; "Seriously? Allanon, _look_ at the poor guy. He's obviously hurting."

"I cannot read his mind and I can sense a deep well of magic within him - yet he is not one of my own. This man is _dangerous_ , Will. Do not doubt me on this."

"Magic? Right, magic…" The disbelieving blond had pointy ears – like elves, true elves from Muggle stories.

"You don't believe in magic?" Harry asked because that was curious - he could tell that magic certainly existed in this world, and that this boy held some form of it. And he looked like an _elf_.

The elf turned to look at him; "Of course not, it's just something from stories."

"That doesn't make it any less real, though," he pointed out.

"That's… look, it doesn't matter," The boy said, walking around the cautious man who, to Harry's eyes, seemed to be mentally praying for patience - or deliverance, "Can you tell me your name?"

"Harry," he answered simply, not sure what else he could tell these two.

"My name's Wil Ohmsford," and the boy actually held out his hand for Harry to shake. For a baffled moment, Harry just stared at it. Then he dragged his gaze to the other man – a question in his eyes.

He'd seen enough in his life to know better than making sudden moves in tense situations, even if the potential for violence was either completely ignored or unnoticed by the elf.

The dark-haired man stepped forward and hovered over them like a silent sentinel, one hand on what was likely a weapon of sorts. Even so, the man, Allanon from what he gathered of their earlier conversation, nodded ever so slightly.

Taking that as the permission it was, the young-looking wizard slowly reached out to shake the boy's hand. It was warm in his grasp, surprisingly steady and very much alive.

Wil smiled at him, gently and almost encouraging, as if _Harry_ was the young and vulnerable one here and that was funny enough that the ancient wizard couldn't help but shake his head and smile back. "You're a kind soul, Wil Ohmsford," he informed the elf, because it was the truth and because if there was anything he had learned over the years it was that people with a truly open heart were a rare find indeed.

The tall man didn't seem interested in exchanging niceties, though. He crowded in even closer, until both of them dropped their hands.

"Who are you, Harry?" Allanon asked forcefully.

Harry was very much not intimidated. "I am absolutely no-one," he answered with more cheer than may have been warranted. But then, his emotions were still all over the place and the fact that he was, indeed, no-one of any importance in the here and now was absolutely freeing.

That answer earned him a strange look from Wil, and a frown from the dark-haired warrior.

"Are you _alright_ , though?"

Harry looked at the young elf with a question on his face and Wil awkwardly scratched his head.

"It just… it looked like you've been… crying?"

Oh. That. Harry silently raised his hand to touch his still wet face. "I was… relieved," he answered slowly, but honestly.

For a moment silence settled between them.

Wil seemed to be trying to be discrete - but it was clearly a struggle for the boy not to question him any further. And the magical warrior - he seemed to be trying to pick Harry apart with his eyes. The man obviously didn't trust him, though _why_ Harry couldn't even begin to fathom. Surely if these were the first people he met in this world, the wizard couldn't be the only one with magical powers around here. Perhaps his powers felt too different to the man's senses?

Whatever the case may be, despite his distrust, the tall man hadn't made a single move to attack him - Allanon might have the look of a warrior, but he was not an aggressor. Instead the man was apparently waiting to see what the wizard would do.

And Harry, well Harry was patient these days - if time had taught him anything it was that. He was quite content to wait the other man out, so their silence remained.

"We must press on, Wil," Allanon finally urged the young elf towards the ruins, seeming to have come to a decision. "Don't touch anything. And you – stay here. If you follow us, I will _not_ be merciful."

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't reply to the vague threat. He also didn't move when the pair entered the ruins he had just walked out from - he'd seen all he wanted to inside, it really held nothing of interest to him. Except for these two, perhaps. But they would need to come back out the same way - there hadn't been any other exits.

"Was that really necessary?" Wil asked as he trailed after the man who walked into the ruins in great strides.

"Yes it was, and you are a fool to think otherwise," was the last Harry heard of their conversation before they left his hearing range.

Harry smiled, sat down again and decided that he liked both of them.

* * *

It was only a short time later that Wil ran out of the ruins towards him. Harry had barely regained his feet before the young man reached out and grasped his arm.

"Can you really do magic?" the blond asked him breathlessly, not waiting for an answer but dragging the wizard back with him into the ruins.

"Yes," Harry replied, gamely running with the boy and wondering what could have driven him to panic - he hadn't come across anything dangerous inside of there.

Moments later it become obvious what the problem was; Allanon.

"Then help him!" the young elf said, pushing him towards where the tall man was lying on the floor, talking in an entirely unfamiliar tongue.

"He keeps talking in ancient Druid or something, and he screamed - I think he's in pain, but I don't know _why_. He just started acting weird halfway through a sentence and collapsed or something and I don't know what to _do_."

Harry held up a hand, "Hush, Wil. I will help him."

Thankfully, the boy fell silent. So the wizard once more stretched out his magic and felt the darkness he had sensed earlier pressing in on the proud man that was, even now, clearly fighting against it with all of his willpower. The dark presence was powerful, it held far greater magic than Voldemort ever had, but Harry was no longer a schoolboy and as far as he could tell, this was nothing more than a mental attack.

This he could fight.

But before he could do anything, Allanon rose with a battle-cry, surging forwards - and then an invisible something pushed him back down on his knees.

Quickly, Harry laid his hand on the man's back and focussed on that invading presence. Suddenly he was in a different room, though it was also clearly the same one. It was darker, though, and Wil was not there. Instead there was a creature - twisted and pulsing with dark magic, with a clawed hand on Allanon's face.

He didn't know the magic of this world, didn't know how well his own magic would hold against it, but Harry _did_ know battle - and there was nothing more effective than the element of surprise.

So he acted before either the creature or the man had even fully registered his presence. With a wave of his empty hand and a cry of 'Protego', the wizard pushed forward both mental and physical shields to envelop both him and the man he was touching in a golden light.

Harry could do magic without wand, without gesture and even without words, but it was easier to channel more power with either - and he put a lot of power in this spell, enough to push the creature backwards and to, thankfully, send both of them back to the regular plane of existence.

The tall man seemed confused for a moment, coming out of it - but Wil was kneeling in front of him, grasping his hand. "It's me, Allanon, it's me."

"Wil," the man seemed to recognize him quickly enough, "We must return to Arborlon. Hurry!"

The elf seemed to realise the other man's urgency and rose willingly enough beside him, throwing a quick glance at Harry.

So, quietly, the wizard followed the two of them outside, for once rather lost on what to do. He was a new player in a game that had been going on without him - with no knowledge of who or what that creature was, what kind of magic it wields and who or where Arborlon was. Or, basically, anything at all.

It was only when Wil held out a hand to help Harry mount the horse behind him that the older man seemed fully aware of him once more. To the wizard's surprise, the man didn't protest his presence, but instead kept quiet and urged his stallion into a reckless gallop.

With a sigh that was only audible to his fellow passenger, the younger blond followed suit.

Allanon set a furious pace ahead of them, but Wil fortunately had no trouble keeping up, even with the extra baggage. They rode in silence for over an hour before his companion finally spoke.

"Thank you, Harry," the elf said with an honest ease.

The wizard blinked and remained silent for a long moment. Then, with a strong voice filled with purpose, he promised, "Anytime, Wil."

Because suddenly Harry was right back where he had started - the way he had been all those years ago, when he was still full of hope and full of life. Back then he had been perfectly willing to throw in his lot with the first kind face, the first kindred soul he came across. Centuries later, he wasn't as desperate as he had been as a child - for love, for loyalty, for belonging.

But he was desperate _enough_ to take it, to grasp this young man's hand, to take his kindness and his friendship - and to give his own freely in return.

Once more, Harry was just a lonely boy on a train who found himself joined by a freckled red-head and never looked back.

And he was glad of it.


	3. The fate of those Chosen

**The fate of those Chosen**

* * *

As they rode, the wide expanse of desert turned into grasslands, which then passed into a vast forest stretched out to cover a mountainous area. Their horses were urged onto the slow incline of one of these mountains until the forests gave way, just a little, for signs of civilization – houses and walls were built alongside and between the trees in a far more natural form of coexistence than mankind had ever managed to achieve in his world.

This world was different then his own – the wizard had already realised this mere moments after his awakening here, but seeing this city, so strange to his eyes, made it hit home once more.

Harry pursed his lips as an uncomfortable feeling swept through him – of being out of place, not certain if he belonged. The horses pressed on, headless of his internal struggle and Wil's ever-present warm form ahead of him managed to settle him further.

Perhaps this wasn't what he'd hoped for exactly, but unfamiliar or not, this world already held more for him than the one he had come from.

Soon enough, there was no more time for doubt. They reached an open stretch near the top of the mountain that was almost like a platform rising above the trees. But not _all_ trees, because, to their left, one tree with red leaves rose above all others.

Instead of left, they went right, following a path to what seemed almost like a palace, though the architecture was different from what Harry was used to. He glanced at Wil thoughtfully – he might have believed it an elven building but the young elf beside him seemed to be as awed at their surroundings as the wizard was, perhaps even more so. Allanon, however seemed unmoved – as if this was an everyday sight.

"Arborlon?" Harry quietly asked the taller man.

The tall man gave a tight nod and dismounted in a quick, practiced move. "Let us hope we're not too late."

Harry managed to get down from the horse as well, with his dignity more or less intact – even if it had been far less smoothly than either of his current companions. Horseback riding was apparently the popular mode of transportation around here.

"Too late for what?" Wil asked, "Wait, do I even _want_ to know? Is this more of that 'not running away from your destiny' crap?"

Allanon didn't deign that worthy of an answer, so the both of them remained in the dark about the specifics. Though Harry strongly suspected that it had something to do with that creature and the language they had _both_ spoken on that strange, mental plane.

What threats or mocking statements had that creature uttered to the proud man to warrant this urgency?

But urgency or no, Allanon still took a moment to confront him.

The other man stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, sending only a darting glance at the waiting palace before his piercing eyes settled on Harry. It almost seemed like the man was trying to discern something with his gaze. If so, then judging by the following frown, he could only assume that Allanon failed in that endeavour.

"I do not know who you are, and even now I am not certain that allowing this is not a serious error in judgment," the man informed him with his grave, deep voice, "But it seems you are with us now and with us you will remain – so do _not_ think to wander off. If I find you anywhere you are not supposed to be…"

The commanding man let the silence speak for him in an unvoiced threat, but Harry was a firm believer that if you bothered to make a threat, you should at least be clear about it.

"You will not be merciful?" he guessed, completing the warrior's sentence without much concern.

The man looked on the verge of doing _something_ , of making another decision – and one that might not fall the way Harry wanted it to. He doubted that Allanon would actually move to _hurt_ him without the wizard doing something first – and even if he did, if he _tried_ … well, the Master of Death was not that easy to take down, let alone kill.

But there were things this man _could_ do to him easily enough – and the first amongst them was to leave him behind, alone in this strange world. And Harry would be fine, of course he would be.

But it's not something he wanted.

So he nodded, with an unaccustomed amount of deference. "You have my word, Allanon."

Thankfully that seemed to be enough for now, and after a tight nod the man led the way inside.

Wil came up next to him, easily drawing him from the tenseness of the earlier conversation with Allanon and into a more amiable atmosphere of fellowship.

"I think you're growing on him," the young elf told him jokingly as he slung a friendly arm around the wizard's shoulder.

"Really?" Harry smiled softly at the young man's cheerful spirit and stared after Allanon in a moment of considering silence. And he told the elf beside him the unadorned truth "I rather liked him from the start."

Wil turned his whole face to look at him, taking in the wizard's peaceable expression. "I can't really tell if you're joking right now."

Harry's soft smile widened, "I'm not. But there's no need to be jealous, Wil. I promise I like you too."

"Always good to have friends when on some sort of mysterious, dangerous quest," the elf said, nodding, "But. Um. He _did_ kind of threaten you a couple of times."

The wizard shrugged, "I didn't feel very threatened," he responded, as if that explained it all. It was the truth after all.

Because whatever the man's words or threats, Allanon's magical presence remained steady - tinged with sadness and tiredness perhaps but underneath it all, blazing like fire, lay an unyielding will. This was a man who would stand against darkness in whatever form it would take, and if that was coupled with some suspicion against magical strangers. Well, Harry was perfectly capable of seeing through that – into the fear that lay beneath.

And this was not his world – he had no idea what was at stake, though from what he had seen so far he rather suspected that it was _everything_.

So he would do what he could to prove to Allanon that his decision was sound - that Harry was not one of the man's mistakes that would come back to haunt him.

The wizard understood better than most what the weight of the world felt like to bear on one's shoulders. It was a heavy – far too heavy for any one person to bear alone.

And yet, there were always those who had to carry more, so much more, than their fair share.

He was certain that Allanon was one of these. And he hoped, for Wil's sake, that the young elf wasn't another.

* * *

They swept into the elven palace and many of the questions that Harry had kept silently inside of his mind were finally answered.

Allanon spoke to the Elven King about the Chosen, who were the only ones that could save something called the Ellcrys. Oh, and there were, apparently, demons somewhere close-by, perhaps even within the very halls they were walking.

Not reassuring, but at least Harry could begin piecing together what exactly was going on here.

That creature he had seen on the mental plane – that must have been a demon. And if the wizard were to hazard a guess, it would have been a highly placed one, perhaps even their leader. Had the demon threatened these Chosen? Is that why Allanon feared for their safety?

The man once known as the-boy-who-lived frowned deeply.

It was _never_ a good thing to bear such a title.

Right then and there, the wizard decided that if he could, he would lend the poor guys, or girls, a hand - just a little support, from one doomed saviour to another.

But that was a resolution that quickly seemed to turn into nothing.

Because they were clearly too late – he knew it the moment the Elf King called out that there should have been guards on the door.

He was sure that Allanon and the King suspected the same.

The door was pushed open and their fears were laid bare before them.

The sight of those young elves, gruesomely slaughtered, didn't touch Harry as deeply as it clearly effected the others. Even now, capable of more _feeling_ than he had been in a long time, Harry experienced little more than a tired sadness –regrettable, such a waste of life. But not unexpected – not _new_ to him, not at all.

The elves around him wore expressions of heart-wrenching dismay. One of them, the youngest Prince if he wasn't mistaking, couldn't seem to bring himself to enter the room fully. He stood with his arms crossed as if he were hugging himself and remained frozen at the side of the doorways, with his back shielded by one of the open doors.

The older brother moved further into the room, sword in hand. He moved stiffly between the bodies, and finally stopped at a distance from the others.

All of them were clearly upset, of course they were, they had known these children, had likely cared for them.

He pitied them more than the dead. The dead were already gone.

Next to him, Wil held his hand in front of his mouth. The young elf looked away for a moment, after which he could evidently summon the strength to speak without puking. "The Chosen," he voiced, "They're all dead."

"No," Allanon spoke quietly even as he could not seem to tear his eyes away from the terrible tableau in front of him, "One still lives. The princess, Amberle."

Ah, Harry thought, one Chosen – and one heavy burden that needed to be borne.

The tall man knelt on the floor, though the elves spared him little attention – theirs was still on the bloodied fate of those they had sought to protect.

Harry's eyes, however, were now fixed on the other man, who was holding an ancient book and stretching out his magic. The wizard hesitantly moved a few paces forward, so that he could see Allanon's face – the man's flinches and grimaces made it clear to the wizard what this man was doing.

He didn't envy the burdened man.

It took a strong will to open yourself up to something this terrible. To look _closer_ instead of looking away.

Not that adverting his eyes detracted from Wil's courage in Harry's opinion – the boy was just young, still innocent, still full of live and hope. Unbloodied. And the long-lived wizard sincerely hoped that the elf would keep hold of that cheerful good faith for a long time yet.

Two different sides of a coin, these companions he'd found himself with - but both of them _good_.

Harry considered himself lucky, that these were the first two people he'd met in this new world.

Of course, there was also a demonic war going on – as evidenced by the sight in front of him, but then, Harry's luck had always been three parts trouble and one part friendship. And it had always been enough to see him through - in those long ago days.

He could only hope that the same would ring true here.

"This must be the work of Gnomes," the older Prince uttered – in full disregard of anything Allanon had said earlier, "They've struck at the heart of the palace before."

"Gnomes had no part in this," Allanon replied with certainty, having slowly risen to his feet moments before. "It is the work of the Dagda Mor."

The same elf spoke up again, something far more irreverent in his voice than Wil's earlier, genuine disbelief in magic. "The Dagda-what?"

"He's a powerful Elvin Druid, who was corrupted by dark magic. He has been plotting his revenge now for thousands of years," Allanon explained in a monotone as he moved around the room with small steps.

"If he's a Druid, can't you find and destroy one of your own?" The bearded elf continued pushing, though he was careful about it – coating his voice in curiosity and not accusation.

"I tried, but he is cloistered in a black henge which cloaks his location."

Harry almost spoke up – because Allanon sounded _tired_ and the wizard was slowly beginning to understand that it was not easy for this man to face one of his own that has gone bad – a Druid. Still, the wizard kept his peace, unwilling to give the outspoken elf more ammunition to use against this proud man.

"I don't understand, if he really has escaped the Forbidding, why doesn't he attack himself?" Wil questioned honestly, clearly trying to get a grasp on all that was going on. The way he had walked up to Allanon, sending a quick glance at the other elf, showed Harry that Wil's feelings on all this were about the same as his own. This 'Druid' was whose word they would take, not that of these unknown elves – even if one of them was the King, who up until now had remained silent in the face of this tragedy.

"According to the Codex, the weaker the Ellcrys gets, the stronger he becomes," the Druid explained, "But he will not be truly free to walk this Earth until the last leaf has fallen."

"Kill the Chosen, kill the Ellcrys," Wil realised out loud.

"Until then, he will dispatch his Demons to carry out his murderous biddings. Like he has done here."

Abruptly, the eldest Prince spoke yet again, "Can my father and I please have the room?"

Allanon looked to the King, who nodded in agreement - so the Druid led his two trailing companions out.

The wizard could guess what that conversation would be about – and he had no doubt that the tall form in front of him held similar thoughts. The Elven Prince clearly did not believe in demons – or in the Druid's words.

"So," Harry started after they were politely kicked out of the room, trying to get the last few facts straight and drag his companions' thoughts away from the doom and gloom, "The Ellcrys is… a tree?"

The Druid spared him a glance, but didn't respond. Clearly, not all was right between the two of them – even the stubborn fool of an elf had been deemed worthy of a tired reply. That Harry rated below this himself was rather… uncomfortable. A bitter smile formed itself on his still young face, but the wizard didn't say anything about the silent reproof.

Wil seemed to sense the tension between them too, because he came up alongside the wizard and laid a hand on his arm as if including him in his sphere of influence – wordlessly telling Allanon that Harry was with them.

With a sigh, the Druid capitulated and came to a stop at the end of the hallway: "The Ellcrys is more than just a tree – it holds back a demon army, trapping it in the Forbidding."

Wil jumped in at this with his own question; "If Princess Amberle is the last of the Chosen, how come the tree can't find her?"

"The Ellcrys has called to her, but she needs to return voluntarily. Nobody can be forced into service."

The young elf didn't question this - seemed to instinctively understand it somehow, even if it was a concept that had always seemed hard to grasp for anyone who wasn't intimately familiar with it. No-one in the Wizarding World had ever seemed to truly understand that being Chosen or Prophesised was only _half_ of it – it took a great sacrifice and a great force of will to _actually_ see things through.

"Can't you use your magic like you did at Druids' Keep?" Wil continued his questioning.

"Finding a dusty old book is much easier than tracking a willful girl who doesn't want to be found," Allanon explained before continuing in a lower voice that wouldn't easily be overheard. "I need you to search the princess's quarters. Don't tell anyone of your mission. The Dagda Mor has an agent within these walls."

At this, the grave man glanced at Harry, and the wizard met his gaze evenly – he had nothing to hide, not about this. With a grimace, the Druid turned back to the young elf. "And, Wil, don't screw up. If the Dagda Mor finds Amberle before we do... the world ends."

With that, the Druid walked off.

"Great. Thanks for the encouragement," Wil said sarcastically, looking down when the gravity of the situation truly sunk in.

And Harry had to make a quick decision – Wil or Allanon. But since the Druid had not included Harry in this little mission briefing, he could guess where the tall man wanted him to go.

That suited the wizard just fine, because he had something to he needed to discuss with the Druid.

With a quick, encouraging pat on Wil's shoulders, he strode quickly after the darkly-clad form.

He had given the man his word that he wouldn't wander off, after all.

* * *

 **A.N.:** Ok, I was planning on writing my typical sort of short story, a two shot in this case. But that would basically make it the same as most of my other stories and I figured, you know what let's add another unfinished WIP to the pile. So I decided to go for it.

Still, this is different than what I'm used to, because I'm basically writing another character into a TV-show. Which gives me more to hold on to as reference, but it might also make it boring or annoying (to me and/or my readers) as I am using a lot of the dialogue from the show, at least in this chapter.

Well, let's see how it goes…


	4. Mistrust

**Mistrust**

* * *

Before Harry had even fully caught up with the Druid, they were met in the hallway by a blond female elf, who kindly welcomed them to the palace. When she asked after their third companion, Allanon merely told her that the boy would be along shortly.

Not the most skilled person in subterfuge, Harry thought, as a warm, fond feeling settled in his chest at the Druid's unapologetic gruffness. Somehow, this surprised him, though it really _shouldn't_ have. Allanon hadn't shown any great skill at manipulation or dishonesty.

But there'd been a likeness, in Harry's mind, in how the Druid had been steering Wil to his supposed destiny. And unconsciously the wizard had expected this man to also have his own mental chessboard with pieces to move around, for the greater good.

He'd loved Albus Dumbledore as a mentor, a welcome and guiding force throughout his childhood years and someone Harry had looked up to more than anyone else. And though the old man had made mistakes, after all these centuries Harry could understand and forgive them all.

But care or no, even Dumbledore had his faults, and his theorizing and plotting had perhaps been the greatest of these - and not something Harry ever enjoyed seeing in others because he himself dearly suffered for it.

So yes, he was glad that the Druid was different. But a little subterfuge was sometimes required. Especially when it was in support of a secret mission, which failure could lead to the end of the world.

So Harry jumped in, thanking the elf lady and diverting her attention to other matters. Since she seemed focussed on seeing to their needs it wasn't difficult to steer the conversation away from Wil and draw her attention to himself.

The wizard shyly smiled up at the young woman, "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way, but…"

"Oh, don't worry," she responded before he could even finish his sentence, "I'd be happy to help."

Harry looked down for a moment, fingers gently worrying at a ripped piece of his cloak. He spoke in a quick, but muted voice, "It's just, we've travelled a long way, and everything happened so quickly – and now here we are. In the… the Elven Royal Palace. I know there is a lot going on, but there's not much _I_ can do right now. So… well… I'd…. do you think, perhaps a bath…?"

His voice trailed off into an uncertain silence and he finally looked up. He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw how she had softened, her body leaning a little closer towards him as if she wanted to provide support or assurance.

"Of course," she said with a warm smile, "Let me show you to your rooms, you're more than welcome to refresh yourself there."

"Thank you," Harry replied earnestly, still channeling the teenager he had once been. It was something he wasn't entirely unaccustomed to – it was a helpful act if he was trying to avoid questions or when he was too weary of receiving judgemental or considering looks.

The blonde led them to a pair of doors, assuring them both that she'd be happy to be of assistance if they required anything at all. She looked at Harry a little longer, perhaps to check if he had everything he needed. He smiled at her and nodded, after which the elf lady finally left them alone.

Harry let out a soft sigh, releasing the act completely, and opened the door to his room.

He was not surprised when the Druid followed him inside.

* * *

"Deception comes easily to you," the taller man observed when the door fell shut behind them.

Harry sighed and faced the Druid, "At times it is easier to conform to expectations. To follow the path of least resistance. Surely you can understand."

"Oh? Are we similar, you and I?" Allanon's voice was generally one that the wizard found pleasant to listen to – deep, certain and unhurried. Now it was coated with something close to mocking and it involuntarily managed to make an old, immensely powerful wizard feel almost small.

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed.

The ancient wizard turned away slightly, breaking eye contact, and let out a short, rueful huff of a laugh, "Not in your eyes, I would imagine. You have little trust for me - but there's not much I can do about that at the moment. And there are more urgent things to discuss."

"Do enlighten me," the Druid challenged as he moved closer, bodily pressing his advantage.

Harry ignored the way the man tried to intimidate him. Instead he casually moved further into the room and sat down on a small bench that was adjacent to the large window in this room. It put him on an even lower level in comparison to the Druid than his usual height, but he hardly cared - he wasn't interested in power plays or intimidation.

"There's not much I can enlighten you about. This situation is new to me – I know no more than what I've picked up in your presence," the wizard pointed out, "Except one thing."

The man easily crossed the distance between them, and stopped in front of him with his arms crossed, "And what would that be?"

"That dark presence, the one that attacked you in the ruins. Was that the Dagda Mor you spoke of?"

"It was," the Druid granted.

For a moment Harry hesitated – he knew that by saying more he'd likely only draw _more_ suspicion to himself. But there was too much at stake here to obfuscate, even if only half of what he heard was true.

"That creature is hidden from your sight, isn't that what you told the elf?" the wizard started, "If that is true, it would seem that _my_ magic works differently than your own – and that of the Dagda Mor. I could sense it earlier, before our meeting, though I did not know what it was – that dark presence on the edge of my senses."

The Druid was frowning at him. Harry took a deep breath and told himself that it didn't matter how Allanon reacted to this. The offer needed to be made, these words needed to be said. "If you wanted me to, I could find it – track it down."

The moment of truth – would the other man put faith in his words?

The answer was 'no', apparently, because the wizard could almost _feel_ Allanon close himself off even further, despite the fact that the man stepped closer instead of away. The Druid loomed over him, blocking out the view. "You will lead me to him, is that so?"

There was danger now, in the Druid's voice and posture and one of the man's hands drifted down to his side – where one would keep a weapon.

Another threat – though he rather suspected that Allanon wouldn't act without clear cause, as the Druid hadn't used more than words so far, despite his suspicion. So instead of responding defensively as his survival instincts urged him to, the wizard limply moved his hands into his lap where he folded them together.

He'd been right - of course he was. Too much suspicion, a spy within these walls, and the Druid had no reason to put his trust in a strange wielder of magic who appeared so suddenly just as the doors of this dark place called the Forbidding were opening.

But Harry _had_ to try – had to put that thought out there so that he wouldn't have any regrets later on.

"The decision is yours," he finally responded, "do with this as you will."

Allanon didn't reply – he merely stared down at him for a long moment without any kindness, though there was no outright hate either. It was a blank look, and perhaps that was even worse.

Then the Druid just left him.

"Do not leave this room," the commanding man warned before he firmly closed the door behind him.

And the wizard was left behind in an echoing silence.

Well, that went about as well as he expected it would.

Harry shook his head and his eyes roved towards the view outside his window. For a long moment he stared at it, unblinking eyes missing the beauty of it completely.

Then the wizard let out a heavy sigh and stood. He may as well take that bath, then.

* * *

Hours passed by quietly and Harry took this first real moment of rest to just _be_ – to take stock of himself and to theorize about just what opening that door had done to him.

And why it had brought him here.

By the time Wil and Allanon burst into his room with haste, he still wasn't certain of anything but he did feel even more resolved to make the best of this. To _live_ again.

At the sudden interruption, his first thought was that the Druid was trying to catch him off-guard, that this was an attempt to catch Harry doing something he wasn't supposed to do.

But no, that wouldn't explain the urgency that radiated from both of them, nor the disapproval that was lining the tense form of the Druid who was lingering at his door.

He understood this much – it was clearly time to go.

"Come on, Harry," the light-haired elf blurted out, "We know where Amberle is. We have to go now!"

He quickly stood and let himself be hurried along through the palace halls.

It was Wil who wanted him along, who had insisted, if Harry read the strange tension between these two men right.

Allanon had been a silent shadow lurking over him from the moment they left Harry's rooms until they reached the outside. His lips were pursed and his hands were clenched, but when the man spoke it was only a casual seeming sentence, "You took a bath."

The wizard blinked - he'd rather expected a threat or an argument about his presence on this mission.

He studied the Druid closely for a moment, noticing a shadow of dread or pain in the man's posture that hadn't been there before. Something had happened – or something had been said. Whatever it was, it was clearly troubling the man.

"I did," he answered softly.

Allanon kept a blank face as they walked up to the horses. And as they arrived there, Harry suddenly had other things to focus on.

Because this time the wizard had even been provided with his own horse - and he prayed that his experiences with riding thestral, dragons, griffins and other odd beasts would be enough to see him through here, as he suspected that this ride would be one with the true haste of desperation.

But that last, at least, was something all too familiar.

* * *

 **A.N.** Please don't hate Allanon – he's my favourite. Just give it some time?


	5. The price of magic

**The Price of Magic**

* * *

They rode for many miles in a tense silence. It was only after they'd dismounted to look for tracks that someone decided to break it.

Not Allanon, who still seemed to be caught in his thoughts and didn't seem to be one for idle talk anyway – whenever he'd spoken in Harry's presence so far, it had been because he had something to say.

Not Harry, as the wizard was perfectly capable of spending days on end without any meaningful social interaction – or he _had_ been, back home. It was easier, now, to breach the distance that had seemed to keep him apart from others, but old habits are hard to break without a little push – a reminder, as it were. The Master of Death had gotten used to solitude, to silence.

If it had been just the two of them, the wizard suspected their journey would consist only of silent glances, carefully chosen words and long stretches of unfaltering quiet.

Thankfully, they had Wil with them, who didn't hesitate to ask questions or speak his mind.

"So you and the king's sister... Wow. I never pictured you as the romantic type."

Harry's eyes widened and he tilted his head, wondering where _that_ had come from. His gaze automatically sought Allanon – to witness the Druid's reaction.

"My relationship with Pyria is none of your concern," the man's face and voice remained blank, but this answer made the wizard even _more_ curious about what Wil had seen or heard - because that wasn't a denial.

"I'm sure the age difference must have been kind of weird. How old are you, like 350?" The young elf continued as Harry quietly considered the new information he was receiving.

If this was true, that would make the other man around the wizard's own age. He hadn't expected that – older than most regular humans, perhaps, but not to _this_ extend.

He, of all people, knew better than to judge a man by appearance. Physically Allanon may look like a man of perhaps forty. The short black beard and the hair that was cropped high on his head made him looked distinguished but didn't necessarily make him look older – no it was his eyes, wary and penetrating, that gave away that this was a man with an old soul.

But Harry hadn't expected that to be centuries – the Druid was weary yes, but not in the way that Harry sometimes felt.

Of course, time touched people in different ways.

Even so, he wondered what this meant about Druids and their way of magic. What made them so long lived?

Not a question the other man would be willing to answer, Harry suspected, _especially_ not if the question came from him.

Then again, the man didn't seem to be interested in replying to Wil either.

"Stop talking." Allanon quietly told the blond.

"I can't," Wil said, nervously tapping a hand against his leg, "It's the only thing keeping my mind off the fact that we could be ripped apart by rampaging Demons at any moment. _Nobody_ should die like that."

"Well, thanks to you, we have a chance of finding Amberle and stopping them," Allanon replied, though he didn't sound all too reassuring, "If your choice in travelling companions doesn't doom us first, that is."

"Wow, that was _almost_ a compliment," Wil replied sarcastically at the slight against his friend.

Harry's rather suspected that his two companions had argued the point before even arriving at his door. The wizard was glad to find that despite his trust in Allanon, the young elf was still firm in his friendship with Harry.

The boy was loyal to _both_ of them and somehow managed to hold to that – despite the chasm that lied between the Druid and wizard.

But particular elephant in the room was skirted carefully around at the moment, even by Wil – who seemed to have other things on his mind.

"I'm not much of a conversationalist," the Druid returned to the elf, likely in the hope that it would be enough to put a stop to any uncomfortable questions, "As you can tell, I don't get much practice."

"I don't know, I think you do threats pretty well," Harry interposed, keeping his voice light instead of accusatory. Both Wil and Allanon seemed to be dealing with their own issues, with fears and memories and the wizard didn't want to start this argument now.

The Druid looked back at him, "Do I? Sometimes I wonder…"

Harry didn't respond to that and the taller man pursed his lips, turned and resumed walking.

But Wil was not willing to let the conversation halt at that. "If you don't want to talk about Pyria, at least tell me about my dad," the young man implored.

Allanon folded - stopped walking and removed his hood to meet the young elf's eyes. With more patience than Harry expected, the man explained that he had met Pyria in the royal archives, at a time when members of a Shannara bloodline where being killed.

Harry looked at Wil, as the boy received a glimpse into another time, when his father had been young, and alive. The wizard didn't know when Wil's father had died, but it was clear from the conversation that he _had_.

And that this loss weighted on _Allanon_ , as much as it did on Wil.

"Your father is the only reason this world didn't fall into darkness 30 years ago," the Druid told Wil deliberately, serious eyes boring into the boy, "His courage and fortitude inspire me still."

"If he's such a hero, how come nobody remembers him?" Wil chocked out the words and Harry stepped up closer behind the young elf - trying to provide some form of silent support, "Why did he die a sad, lonely drunk?"

Both of them were focussed fully on each other, never breaking eye-contact. The powerful Druid answered with a quiet voice, "Well, you might recall I told you that magic comes with a price? Your father mastered the Elfstones, he defeated a terrible evil, and the magic... took its toll."

As the Druid spoke of magic, of the price that came with it, the wizard froze completely. The man laid it out so plainly, but there was pain there – in his own measured words, in Wil's eyes that were covered with the sheen of held-back tears.

This pain was something Harry knew – intimately, deeply, _wholly_ and the wounds it had left, the hollow emptiness that had haunted him through lonely centuries, was not healed even nearly enough for him to remain unaffected. His breathing deepened and his magic pulsed within him like a heartbeat as painful memories rose to the surface.

He was intensely grateful that his two travelling companions were not paying him any attention at the moment – Wil was likely focussed on the memory of his father, and who the man might have been. And Allanon's on the memory of a dear and admired friend, and the future he might see in this young elf.

It gave him a moment to swallow it all back in, before it could somehow overflow.

"Is that what's gonna happen to me?" Harry dimly heard his friend ask while he put a tight rein on his emotions.

"Magic affects each person differently. But you are not your father, Wil," Allanon assured the boy, stepping over that social distance he habitually seemed to keep from others to clasp the elf's cheek encouragingly.

That seemed to have filled the man's quota for emotional conversations, because the Druid moved past Wil in the same continued movement to once more start looking for any sign of anyone's passing.

"So I'm supposed to use Elfstones I don't have to protect a princess who doesn't want to be found from a Demon horde bent on laying waste to the world?" the boy summarised, "And even if I succeed, which is entirely doubtful, my life could still be doomed because magic will have fried my brain."

Harry shook his head with an actual smile at the way Wil could bear all that and _still_ have the fortitude to face it all head on with some form of humour. He finally closed the distance to the bright-eyed elf, and placed a gentle hand on Wil's forearm.

The blond faced him and Wil's troubled face smoothed out slightly, even as Allanon agreed to the frank rundown with a soft hum.

At that sound, Wil turned his head back to the Druid and shook his head slightly and said with humour, "I liked it better when we didn't talk."

Allanon glanced back and let out an actual chuckle – one that was warm and real and, though aimed at Wil, still let out freely in his presence.

The young elf leaned back a little, into Harry's supportive gesture, and managed a more genuine smile – and the wizard could feel no dread at this oncoming darkness, because despite the Druid's distrust and Wil's youth, he was certain that for the first time in centuries, he wouldn't need to face it all alone.

* * *

When they made it to a colourful camp along the beach, a grey-haired lady looked up at their coming.

In front of him, Allanon quietly urged his horse to a stop. Wil and Harry exchanged a glance and quickly followed suit.

The wizard needed only one look at the woman, breathing heavily – pained eyes focussed only on the Druid, and he knew exactly who this was. Pyria.

Harry dismounted and remained behind Allanon, making him unable to read anything on the man's face. But he didn't need to, didn't _want_ to – because these emotions, whatever they were, where clearly theirs alone.

He'd felt a little uncomfortable earlier, when his two companions spoke about Wil's father – a man they had both cared for in their own way. But this – this would likely be even worse.

"Allanon?" the elf lady questioned softly – as if she didn't believe her own eyes.

A moment of silence lay between the two, deep and with the potential to be filled with so very many things, good or bad or somehow both – bittersweet and painful and beautiful.

But Wil, impatient and all-too aware of the urgency, broke in, "We're here for Princess Amberle."

The woman held up a hand as if to stay them, "I - I can't help you."

At this stammered refusal, the Druid clasped his arms to his chest. Harry could see Pyria's eyes close and she winced a few times – it was as if she was trying to hide in her shadow from the light of the sun and failed each time. A few breaths later her eyes opened again and flew to the tall man.

"She's at the waterfall," Allanon proclaimed.

The king's sister scowled, "Damn your Druid tricks."

"Go now, time is precious," The tall man told Wil, who ran off immediately, but as Harry moved to follow, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up to meet the Druid's gaze.

"Stay. He'll be back soon enough." It was clear that the second part of that sentence was only meant to make it sound less like the order it was. And Harry wasn't used to following orders or listening to any form of authority, he hadn't been very good at that even when he'd been young and naïve and Dumbledore's champion and was far less so now with so much life and death weighing him down. But he was still new here, still finding his place and still willing to give Allanon a little leeway, especially here and now.

So Harry nodded and allowed that hand to hold him in place while all three of them looked after the elf's retreating back.

"That's Shea's boy, isn't it?" Pyria realised, something pained in her voice.

Allanon tried to make light of it; "I'm not convinced he'll be the man his father was."

She shook her head slightly at him before her gaze flittered to Harry, "And who is this?"

The Druid's lips pursed and he looked at the wizard with narrowed eyes. "This is Harry."

No further introduction between them was provided, which might have been simple rudeness – or even a deliberate affront to Harry by not providing him with an introduction of Pyria in turn.

But the wizard had lived long enough that he could see it for what it actually was: protectiveness - a desire to keep a possible threat at a distance from this fragile-looking woman.

It was also clear to him that the Druid wanted anything but a spectator to this reunion – but the man would sacrifice his own comfort before risking the only remaining Chosen.

And Harry was still considered a risk – a _danger_. And even now, though he would have thought himself somehow immune, that stung.

Even so, the wizard could understand and he decided it might be better to give the man some space – and peace of mind. Perhaps it came too naturally nowadays, to put that distance between himself and others, but it was clear that he wasn't wanted here not right now and he'd grown tired of being an unwanted presence when he was still a teenager forced upon the Dursleys.

"I'll just be over there," he offered, pointing to a random point at some distance from them – in the opposite direction from the one Wil had left in.

The heavy hand on his shoulder slid away, releasing him, and with one last glance at both of them, he strode away quickly – and not _just_ out of deference to whatever unresolved feelings Allanon still carried with him.

Over the years he had fallen further and further into numbness, as easily and inevitably as a tired soul might drift off to sleep. But now the Master of Death felt wide-awake again and while he considered this a good thing, had actively worked towards this, it wasn't always a welcome thing to _feel_.

So Harry let his feet take him towards the shoreline and let the sound of waves overpower the presence of others.

It proved to be a mistake.

* * *

The wizard only became aware of the danger by a loud screeching sound. It would have been an alarming enough sound on its own, but the wizard had kept track of Pyria and Allanon, as he'd been making sure to stay in the Druid's sightline.

The two had been talking on the top of a cliff, overlooking the sea and the beach that Harry was pacing – kept company only by too many thoughts.

When he finally looked up, a winged creature was already descending on the two.

By the time he started running, the thing had kicked Allanon off the cliff and was feasting on the elven lady's innards.

Pyria let out a piercing, high-pitched scream and Harry felt his stomach twist and clench. The sight of that horrific thing tearing the poor woman apart was abhorrent - but he didn't allow his eyes to look away.

Harry focussed on the winged shape that was silhouetted against the sun and sent a powerful Bombarda straight at it.

It was thrown back and yelled angrily, but even then he knew it had been too late.

The elf lady had already stopped screaming.

There was no more time to think about her, though, because the creature was still alive and Harry's action had drawn the things attention – and ire.

It launched itself off the cliff, off Pyria, and landed on a large rock. From there it screeched loudly at the wizard and Harry took his first good look at the creature. The thing looked disgusting, like someone had taken a thestral, ripped of its leathery, bat-like wings and sown them onto an Infiri, before adding some sharper teeth and claws.

But that was not the horrifying part of all of this.

No, what made his heartrate quicken in _true fear_ was not that thing but the fact that, behind the creature, he could see that Wil and who he assumed was the lost princess had heard the screams as well – and had come running _towards_ the sound instead of away.

He breathed in deeply and told himself not to think about it, not to let his eyes stray towards the two and imagine that thing ripping into Wil. Instead he set his jaw and focussed on the demon, determined not to allow it the chance.

There were a thousand spells he might have tried, but Bombarda hadn't done much damage and this thing was a complete unknown.

Simple was generally better, when it came to battle, so he put his hand on his invisible wand holster and summoned from it the miniature version of the sword of Gryffindor.

The blade returned to full size and the ruby-inserted hilt settled easily into his hands. Not the usual weapon for a wizard, but Harry was nothing if not practical and if the basilisk venom didn't work…

Well - it was still a sharp sword.

The wizard pushed his shoulders back, lifted his sword and lowered his chin.

The creature let out another hair-raising call and flew right at him.

Let it. Harry was ready for it.


	6. The Cave by the Sea

**The Cave by the Sea**

* * *

Harry found himself facing a thing out of nightmares, and judging from their earlier conversations it was likely one of those demons.

It was hideous and fierce, and it leaped towards him - twisting around and lashing out in unnatural movements. But while this specific being was a complete unknown, Harry was at least experienced in fighting creatures that were far from human – so his sharp eyes ceaselessly kept track of its attacks and despite the worried call of 'Harry' from his watching friend, he kept his focus.

And chose the right moment to strike.

His first slash completely severed one of the thing's arms from its body. It staggered backwards with an almost human-like scream and then retreated up into the air, where Harry wouldn't be able to reach it.

Not with his _sword_ in any case.

Perhaps the wizard's dark eyes gave something away or perhaps the demon was there with purpose, because it needed only a few seconds to consider and before the wizard could press his advantage, could _end_ this, it had decided upon an easier target.

It showed Harry its bony back, those dark, leathery wings hanging off of it and propelling it not towards the wizard, but to the pair of unprepared, young elves.

For a moment, the wizard forgot how to breathe - but his body remembered movement effortlessly because Harry still lurched forwards at the unexpected attack, towards the threat.

His empty hand was held out in front of him and a spell was on his lips, but he managed to hold himself back just in time when Allanon suddenly moved into his sights to stand between that thing and the two frightened teenagers, a sword suddenly forming in the Druid's ready hands.

With a yell, the warrior-druid charged and hit his mark, spilling dark-red, almost black-ish blood.

It didn't deter the creature, instead the demon moved forward, piercing itself further onto the sword so that it was stuck inside it's bony body. Only then did it abruptly withdraw, leaving the Druid off-balance and without his weapon.

Then the winged menace drew itself up again, its sinister gaze focussed on Allanon, preparing to leap, to claw, to tear open flesh and consume organs.

The weaponless Druid grinned grimly, a twist to it that made Harry feel as if a bucket of freezing water had been poured right down his back. It was a look of pure fearlessness and something close to satisfaction – it conveyed clearly the sentiment that if I am going down, I am _damn_ well taking you down with me.

He wondered if he'd ever, unknowingly, worn the same expression and what it would have looked like on the face of a world-weary teenager who was ready to die, instead of on this solid, warrior-like man.

He wondered if he was wearing it now.

There was no time – no time to consider the best course of action, to figure out if he could manage a 'Bombarda' without risking harm to his friends, or whether a 'Stupefy' would have any effect on this thing. But that was fine, because he was not the type of fighter who worried about which spells to use, about strategy or tactics like Ron or Hermione might have.

Harry always went with his instincts and even if it didn't always turn out the most well-thought out of actions, he was skilled enough to make it work. Usually.

Unfortunately, he'd also never gained a sense of self-preservation.

So he dove right in, coming at the demon from the side. It noticed him and recoiled slightly but Harry didn't give it a chance to switch targets this time – wouldn't risk it. He closed in on it, slashing at it unrelentingly and pushing it back from those he was trying to protect.

He heard Allanon regaining his feet behind him, the man as stubborn as Harry himself was, because he didn't pause – he reached forward and claimed his sword back from the demon's side and the wizard almost tripped when he halted his own attack, unused to a partner after all this time of standing alone.

His attention was too focussed on the Druid, on his young friend, on the elf princess, hyper-aware of their presence and determined not to allow any harm to come to them.

He got hit – a deep slash of razor-sharp claws carving open his skin and his left hand automatically covered the wound to keep what precious blood he could within his body.

Wil yelled, loudly, and it caused Allanon to turn around in search of a second threat that wasn't there, and that distraction could cost him – could cost all of them dearly. So Harry stared at the demon, and with both hands occupied and no real spell on his mind he just focussed on his power, his desire to protect, to end this before he lost what he so wanted to gain.

His magic surged upwards, fed by his own emotions, by feelings he hadn't been open to in _centuries_ but that were ferocious and true and unrestrained.

Harry's power mercilessly closed in on the creature, circulated around it in a raging whirlwind and tore into it ceaselessly until only blood and pieces of bone remained, falling to the ground beneath where this threat had once hovered.

And the wizard collapsed.

* * *

When he regained something of consciousness, what he first noticed was a strange voice shouting something. Wil, Harry pinpointed a long moment later, but it sounded almost unfamiliar.

Seconds passed by, blurred conversation with it, and the wizard took another breath and he realised _why_ the voice sounded so strange to him – that was _anger_ coating the boy's voice, twisting it into something unfamiliar.

"Wil," he croaked out despite the difficulty, because it was important, because it was _wrong_ that this cheerful, bright-eyed teen who gave kindness and friendship and loyalty so freely sounded like this, "Don't. Is… fine."

It was all he could manage – he didn't have the strength to say more, or even open his eyes. It had been a very long time since he'd felt this weak. Blood loss, he knew, and he'd also used a completely excessive amount of undirected magic, but even so he'd be fine. Probably.

As the Master of Death he hadn't been able to die. But right now, Harry couldn't promise that – couldn't be certain anymore because there was a cost for everything and he didn't know what going through that door had done to him exactly. He had regained something yes – but there was always a flip-side, something lost to compensate – he just didn't know whether the cost was _just_ his home world and being dumped into another dark war. Or something else.

Someone gently took hold of one of his hands, and the warmth and presence of it helped him focus enough to hear what the elf told him, "Hey, don't worry, I'm going to help you."

"Wil," he heard a strict voice from further away – it might have added something else, but if he did, Harry couldn't discern it.

" _No_ , Allanon," Sounded forcefully, rebelliously and right next to him, "I'm going."

"And I'm going with him," a strong female voice added.

There was something wrong with that too – the words this time, not the tone because teenagers were supposed to sound rebellious, weren't they? But he didn't think Wil and this young lady should be going, though he wasn't sure why.

Why was it bad if they left?

It wasn't that he was actually afraid of being left alone with Allanon. He doubted that the man would do anything to harm him – though he didn't exactly _like_ the thought of being vulnerable and useless in the Druid's care.

There was an argument going on somewhere far away, but the wizard barely noticed – he was still focussed on the feeling of dread that was flowering in his gut and trying to puzzle out the seed it had originated from, when he passed out again.

* * *

The next time Harry woke up he felt terrible but no longer like he could possibly be dying, which he decided on being a good thing for now.

He looked around – darkness, rock walls, sand floor and the sound of the sea. He decided that he was in a cave along the same shoreline they had followed earlier.

The wizard's eyes hurt a little when he turned his head and forced them to look towards the light coming from the entrance, where they touched upon a humanoid form. He tried to make out who was keeping watch. A powerful frame with broad shoulders and short cropped dark hair – Allanon.

Painfully, Harry managed to sit up. The man obviously noticed his movements and approached him.

"They would not be deterred," the Druid said with a hint of frustration in his deep voice, "I tried to stop them, but couldn't follow after they took the horses. So I had no choice but to remain, to see to it that you did not die of your wounds."

The first part of that sentence didn't make any sense to him yet, so he focussed on the second. "Why?" He asked, truly baffled, because he hadn't thought that Allanon would _actively_ try to kill him, but also hadn't been too sure that the Druid didn't want him to die.

The look he received was different from any he'd seen on the man before – but his mind was still swimming too much for him to be able to try to place the emotions fuelling it – thoughtfulness, guilt, wariness, he couldn't be sure, despite its forceful intensity.

A solemn silence fell between them, while Allanon looked at him with something in his eyes and Harry – well, Harry tried not to throw up from dizziness.

"We can only hope that they will return safely – and swiftly," the taller man finally said.

Oh, right, he remembered now. Wil and the girl, the missing princess, went somewhere, hadn't they? His young friend had grasped Harry's hand and promised that he'd help and then he'd left, full of righteousness and loyalty and teenager rebellion.

The wounded wizard breathed deeply and carefully touched his magic – weak still and tender after forcing it out in an unguided, overpowered attack. He could admit to himself that he'd handled the situation rather poorly. He'd gotten too used to fighting his battles alone in the years since those early days when he'd still had friends to stand by his side.

But Wil was alive, as was the Chosen.

But not the elf lady.

"'m sorry," Harry told the man earnestly, "About Pyria – not Wil. Wil's… good – warm. But she… I would've saved her, if I could."

Allanon stared at him again with unblinking eyes, but eventually nodded. That one nod was all he got from the man, but that was all he would have expected, because Harry wouldn't have wanted to talk about a fresh hurt – or any hurt – either.

The quiet that followed was a little uncomfortable, a little hollow and guilty and hurt.

But there was some form of understanding between them, a hint of togetherness, and that would tide them over until Wil returned to them with something lighter and kinder to fill up those deep empty cracks that the two of them were too weary too even give voice too.

* * *

Time passed in silence in their cave by the sea.

The Druid was obviously as impatient as Harry was, and had taken up pacing near the entrance.

The wizard was recovered enough by now that he also found it hard to sit still and do nothing more than _wait_. He wanted to track Wil down, because he was now fully aware of the danger out there - but the boy had taken his horse along with Allanon's and his own to prevent the Druid from going after them and stopping them.

A bold, brave and foolish action and Harry want to chase after him to make sure the boy didn't do anything _more_ stupid than that.

But the wizard didn't have a horse, and apparating to an unknown location wasn't exactly wise – _especially_ when already suffering from magical exhaustion.

His hand went to his necklace, to the trunk he carried around his neck. It wasn't his old school trunk from Hogwarts, that was safe in his home – worlds away. No, this was just his emergency stash, something he always carried with him because it was better to have something and not need it than to need something and not have it. It contained books, potions, clothes, weapons and food - as well as a few keepsakes.

Once upon a time, his broom would have been in there as well, but it had been a long time since Harry had needed it for practical purposes as apparition was usually much easier. He hadn't flown from the pure joy of it in a very long time – had lost that feeling somewhere along the way, with so many other things.

He sighed and sat down again. If he couldn't go _out_ to find Wil, then he'd just have to locate the boy in a different way. He glanced at the Druid, who was now unapologetically watching him. Harry huffed out a breath and decided to ignore the man.

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply he focussed on his magic, reaching out.

Though searching for magical signatures was something he'd done before, it was generally to find places, not to a specific person. By the time he had learned this trick, he had few loved ones left – no-one to look for.

But now he did. It was an equally terrifying and awfully good feeling.

The first thing he touched upon was Allanon, a deep well of magic right next to him, its warmth blanketing over him like a hearth fire. He sighed again, this time contently instead of tiredly and he took a moment to just bask in it.

The Druid was often gruff towards him, perhaps even harsh but the sense of his magic reminded Harry of what he'd always believed of the man: that he was a good soul, and even a kind one, though he didn't show it as readily as Wil.

Unwittingly, a small smile formed on his face before the wizard stretched out a little further.

That same demonic presence was still out there, clear as day and dark as night. Harry shied away from it, leaving it undisturbed for now and searched further still – until he found a small, familiar glow brush against his senses that could only be Wil. It was tiny and dim, but unmistakable.

He followed that little light as it moved closer to where Harry was, quickly enough that the wizard deducted that the young man was probably riding his horse.

With nothing else to do, he kept his eyes closed and kept track of the boy on his journey back to them.

* * *

 **A.N.** Ok, so in the actual show... how does Allanon get to the Rover's camp. He doesn't have a horse, since Amberle took his. How did he even know where they were? Is that a Druid thing? I hope I'm not stealing his thunder too much by adding in Harry, but yeah.

So... nothing happened in this chapter at all, except for the not soo spectacular fight. Sorry about that.


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